Let me hear your scream
by phoebe1105
Summary: Lydia Martin x Deputy Parrish - First chapter starting from their first initial scene from 'Muted' 4-03. I'm writing everything that should be happening in their relationship, and just playing around. I hope you guys enjoy it! Rated M for chapters to hopefully come. I can't help it, after 'Muted', I was obsessed with them. Don't forget to review and favourite!
1. Prologue

**Hi guys! I hope you enjoy reading this! If you are, it's probably because you're as interested and excited in Lydia and Parrish's relationship as I am. Well, I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review so I can know what to fix up and what you guys would like to see! Sorry if there is any grammatical mistakes. xx**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, nor any of the characters. I am just making up bits to the story as I see fit.**

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><p>"Parrish!" A steel iron voice travelled through the station, making the deputy turn his head in the subtlest of movements, his eyes meeting officer Peterson's as he walked away from Sheriff Stilinski. Parrish turned his head back to his desk, his fingers drumming silently against it, his right hand scribbling down statements of information onto one of the twenty files of paperwork that sat at his table; easily the worst part of his job. "Parrish, I'm talking to you." Peterson called again, trying to get his attention from the sheets.<p>

Parrish barely lifted his eyes to give Peterson the second of acknowledgement that he would surely need to keep on going with whatever he needed from here. "Listen, new guy. You can't disrespect us like this around here." He growled, making Parrish drop his pen and lean back in his seat, finally looking at Peterson eye to eye.

"I've been here for six months." He said, crossing his arms over his chest, receiving an eye roll from Peterson at his response. "What do you want?" Parrish demanded, his voice never harsh, just alert and final. He didn't muck around.

"I need you to come on a run with me. A dead body, over at the gas station off Clarence St." Peterson said, making Parrish's eyes widen and stand up immediately. He slid his gun into the holster on his hip. Peterson was already walking out of the station, muttering something about 'I told you so' and 'asshole' mixed into some kind of remark that Parrish didn't really care for.

_Another dead body. _Beacon Hills had definitely held up its reputation since he had moved here. As Parrish shrugged his jacket on as he walked out of the station, Peterson pulled up in the police car in front of him. Sliding in, Peterson gave him the run down. One body, homicide, over twelve hours old. There were already officers there, examining the body, making sure everyone stayed back, keeping the place untouched, doing the easy shit basically. That's how Peterson described it.

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><p>Stepping out of the car, Parrish felt it. It was that familiar instinct of murder, that feeling he got as a cold chill ran up his back, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. He thought that feeling would pass after his first year of being an officer; it never left him.<p>

Evaluating the crime scene was the easy part. The gas station was cut off by the think yellow tape, Parrish could see where the action had obviously happened, where all the police men stood, where blood stains stuck to the ground.

_Gun.  
>Taser.<br>Knife._

The three words always went through Parrish's head in any crime situation, as he stopped himself from putting his hand to his holster.

"It's the girl. Martin."

Parrish turned around at the voice, his eyes meeting officer Maxwell's, his expression seemed annoyed. Parrish heard a throaty groan from Peterson. His eyes looking over at him, an eyebrow raised. Peterson noticed the look, and bit onto his lower lip, clearly irritated.

"There's this girl. Lydia Martin. She keeps finding all these bodies before we do." Peterson sighed, scratching his head. "We're keeping it as quiet as possible, but some people are starting to ask questions." He said. "She's always there." Peterson turned his head, making Parrish follow suit. "There she is." Peterson pointed out, nodding in the direction.

Parrish took a step forward, letting his eyes adjust to the two girls standing with one of his men. One with black, short hair. She was Japanese, and her figure small and thin. She looked uncomfortable, she looked _terrified. _Which is what one could assume when you find a dead body in a gas station.

Then there was Lydia Martin.  
>He knew her when he saw her.<p>

Strawberry blonde hair. _Soft, wavy, delicate strawberry blonde hair_. She looked frustrated-she looked beautiful, but frustrated none-the-less. How could such a young girl be finding her way to body after body? Why?

Within the second of Parrish staring at Lydia intently, asking himself every possible question as to what this girl had going on in her head, her eyes flashed past, meeting his contact across the gas station. Green eyes. Lydia Martin.

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><p><strong>Don't forget to review! Love you all xx<strong>


	2. Lydia freakin' Martin

**Hey guys, here's the offical first chapter of my Marrish story. I hope you all enjoy it. This is much longer than the prologue, sorry for how short that was, but as said, it is just a prologue. Do let me know what you guys think of this! Tell me if you like how I also write the conversations that they have, or if you'd just like me to write stuff that happens behind the closed doors that I originally made up. I hope you like the little parts that I added to the conversation, and when I'm writing originally, I hope you think I'm writing these two characters the right way. So yeah, please let me know what you think. So sorry for any grammatical mistakes again. **

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><p>The day of the homicide at the house on Baker St. was already a busy one before the Sheriff ordered Parrish to go and stand guard at the crime scene. Parrish had literally piles of paperwork sitting at his desk, two cases he was supposed to be working on, and now he was spending his day sitting in a car making sure there were no disturbances.<p>

Taking the report with him, Parrish parked across the street, getting comfortable in his seat and opening up the report. If he was given this case, _which was very unlikely_, he would have a hell of a job on his hands. As he looked at the piles of photographs taken from the crime scene, Parrish was almost frozen in place. It was so..gruesome, and very unlike a lot of other murders in the Beacon Hills area. This attacker had a weapon and he was definitely..human.

_Jesus, that poor kid. _Parrish thought, his breathe heavy and sympathetic. Peterson always told him to get rid of that sympathy, and that he, in fact, eventually would. He would no longer feel compassion for the loved ones, or grief for the victim, he would no longer feel personally attacked by the criminal and no longer have a physical urge to that one family who needed him. Peterson said that would all go away. Parrish wouldn't allow that to happen.

Something he could never quite wrap his head around was the motive behind killers, even after he spent years studying criminology before he went off to join the military with the _Hazardous Defence Team. _Which might be why he probably had never really wrapped his head around this whole 'sociopath' thing. He understood war, and violence and how to deal emotionally with everything. He was trained and he was _good. _But that doesn't mean he can't feel the pain.

As he turned his head to look at the house, his mind couldn't help thinking about the route the murderer could have taken, and the way of entry, all these thoughts running through his head until everything stopped and a shadow moved across the entry of the house, sliding past the glass window and through into the other room. Almost invisible, but still a sign of life.

Getting out of the car, Parrish reminded himself. _Gun, taser, knife, _as his hand instinctively sat on his holster. As he walked up to the house, he pulled his gun out, holding it to the ground, approaching carefully, slowly and subtly. Every movement he made was accurate and precise. As his dropped one hand, to wrap around the knob of the door, he gently let his hand twist it and open it up, letting it swing open itself as he stepped inside.

The house was silent, and disturbingly so. Whoever was in here, they must have a reason for it. He sure as hell wouldn't be walking around a crime scene without a damn good reason to be explaining to the police. "Beacon County Sherriff's Department." He called out, his words ringing through the large, empty house. After no response, not even a footstep, he continued. "This is a crime scene, show yourself." He demanded.

And in that moment, before he could react, a body jumped out in his peripheral vision. Instinct kicked in and Parrish raised his gun as he moved to face the trespasser.

Oh, shit.

Lydia Martin. The girl with the vision. The girl who's name was coming out of the mouths of every policeman in Beacon Hills, and the girl standing in front of him right now.

Meeting her eyes, she looked..Parrish didn't know how to describe the word..scared? caught? confused? This girl was a mystery to him, and why she had come here, even after the bodies had been found was something that flabbergasted Parrish even more. As he lowered his gun, he finally breathed out, but didn't let the thought slide that Lydia didn't seemed frightened at all with a gun pointed at her head. What the hell was up with this girl?

"What are you?"

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><p>"I would try to explain it, but I've never gotten a satisfactory explanation myself." Lydia said as they walked through the house, her long legs striding through the rooms, clearly pulling her along to whatever intuition she had going on inside that head of hers.<p>

"Just an unusual habit of showing up to places where people have been brutally murdered?" He asked, watching the back of her head as she turned her back to him. Parrish couldn't help himself, he was so.._intrigued _by her. He would have contacted the station, she was a trespasser on a crime scene. But something told Parrish that Lydia Martin was some kind of exception to the code.

At his remark, Lydia turned around, her red hair flowing with her, the tight curls falling across her shoulders. Her face tightened softly as she addressed the question.  
>"Are you saying I have a reputation?" She asked. How did Deputy Parrish know anything about her?<p>

"An unusual one." Parrish replied, shaking his head at her, a soft shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe you're psychic." He offered. Does Lydia even know why she can do this? Does she know why she just shows up here with nothing but herself to look at a dead body? By the way a small scoff came out of her mouth, Parrish assumed she had some sort of secret that she wasn't going to tell him.

Even so, it wasn't his place to demand it, but it didn't stop his curiosity.

"Don't tell me you believe all that." She challenged, looking at Parrish as if he was ridiculous. Lydia's eyes moved up and down his body, before moving on and walking toward the wall behind Parrish. He rolled his eyes at her remark and turned to face her.

"I'd like to say I don't believe in anything, but I keep an open mind." Parrish said, raising his own eyebrows at how he talked. Did he believe in that sort of second conscious? Supernatural ability? "But, if you're looking for dead bodies, I think you're a little late." He told her, trying to get back to the subject they originally started on; why she was here.

Though, Lydia didn't answer, she kept facing the wall, stepping closer and closer to it. What was she doing? As she put her hand against the dark wood, Parrish took a step forward, trying to figure out what this girl was doing. Suddenly, she applied some force to her hand and pulled back, letting the door fall open, a cloud of dust coming out of the space within what Parrish thought was just a wall, but apparently so much more.

Lydia turned back to Parrish, trying to meet his eyes. For what? Guidence? Instructions? Parrish had never seen anything like this before and Lydia seemed just as confused as he did. How did she know that was there? It's not like she had been here before, and if she had, it looked like this lockway hadn't been opened in a while.

Instantly, Parrish pulled out his gun, looking at the door and stepping in front of Lydia protectively. As she pulled the door open, Deputy Parrish gently put his hand on her shoulder, letting her know that he was there, and also letting her know that he would go in first, as he took the step forward. He wanted to tell her to leave, he didn't know what the hell this lead to, and he sure as hell didn't want to deal with the paperwork of the minor following him down a trapped door into the unknown.

As he held his flashlight below his gun, Parrish stepped into the compartment, finding himself in some kind of hallway, when he felt Lydia's presence behind him, he started to walk, his flashlight moving from wall to wall, making sure nothing was there to cause any harm to Lydia or himself.

_Jesus Christ, it was freezing in here. _As Parrish and Lydia walked down the small, narrowed hall, a small strip door was the only thing that this place led to. Before he took one more step forward, Parrish looked back to Lydia, making sure she was still there, and still with him. He sent her a look, hopefully enough to tell her that he was going to go in. A small part of him wanted her to stay, but a bigger part wanted the girl safe, and hoped she would just scream and run out at this point and left him to deal with it. She only looked back into his eyes with just as much commitment.

As Parrish stepped through the door, the familiar feeling of it sent him back to college when he had day after day of training for sweeps. Gun pointed, every angle covered. Which is exactly what Parrish did. As he scanned the room, he was almost about to yell out 'clear', and then reminded himself that he's not at the academy, and he's not with any of his partners. Just with the crazy psychic girl.

Right beside him sat a light switch on the wall. _Gun, taser, knife. _The words rang through his head again, flicking the switch and watching as the bulbs gave the room light. Christ, it's _really_ freezing. Seeing no threat, Parrish put his gun in his holster and started to rub his hands together, seeing Lydia holding her body in her arms. The girl was in a short skirt and half sleeved shirt. Without thinking, Parrish shrugged off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. She didn't say anything, he half expected her to roll her eyes at him, but she kept the jacket on none-the-less.

The whole room was filled with fog, as it started to finally clear, they both got a more insightful view to the place. Long bags hung from the ceiling, line after line after line, full of bags that were keeping cold. "I think it's a game locker." Parrish said, taking a step forward. "Like venison." He uttered, telling Lydia as he examined the bags that hung. "Hunting is legal in some parts of the state, but.." Parrish's voice ran over as he continued to look around, paying closer attention to the room. What the hell was this place?

"What is it?" Lydia's voice broke through her room, making Parrish come back to reality and start making actions. Stepping a bit closer to the closest bag to him, he put his hand on Lydia's shoulder, willing her to move back, as he started to unzip the bag in front of him.

"It's not venison." The words came out like iron blades at Parrish and Lydia became face to face with a dead body sitting inside one of the fifty bags in this place. An old woman, who knows how long she had been sitting inside there for. "Get out of here, Lydia." Parrish ordered. Stepping back and turning her with his hand on her shoulder, guiding them out of the room and quickly walked back down the freezing hallway into the house.

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><p>"You can't just grab me like that, there are dead bodies in there! We have to keep looking!" Lydia snapped at him as they got into the warmth of the house, his jacket still sitting on her shoulders. Deputy Parrish didn't reply to her, but quickly grabbed the radio on his belt and spoke into it, requesting backup immediately. When he received confirmation on his request, he looked at Lydia. "You should go." He said softly, looking at her. She seemed confused, and frightened, but mostly confused, which gave Parrish an odd feeling in his stomach. How many dead bodies had this girl actually seen? Enough to not make her squeamish, that's for damn sure.<p>

"What? Why? I was in there with you. I'm a witness." She said, frowning at him, her body standing strong and tall, trying to match Parrish's height, which definitely wasn't going to happen.

"You're a trespassing witness. One that has been getting on all the policemen's nerves with all the supposed 'help'. Look, it's better and easier for both of us if you leave, they don't need to know you were here." He convinced, trying his best to make Lydia believe that he was doing the best that he could at this point.

She seemed disappointed in him, this man she had never met, this man that she had shared two seconds of eye contact with before she flicked her strawberry blonde hair and walked away. Her facial expression was sharp, she was obviously interested in how this was going to go down. Without another word to Parrish, Lydia walked out of the room, out of the house, and in whatever direction she came in, while Parrish ran a hand through his short caramel hair, trying to find an explanation to give the Sheriff after they all see this discovery.

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><p>"Jesus, it's freezing in there." Peterson groaned as he stepped out of the trapdoor, holding his jacket tight around his body.<p>

"What do you think is going on? What the hell is all that about?" Parrish asked, his mind running rampant. Did the murdered family own this? Did they even know this was here? How old are the bodies?

"I don't know what the hell is up with this situation. Stilinski is pissed, and confused, and really pissed." Peterson said, shaking his head as he walked around the room , looking at each photograph in the room, trying to see if he could see any regular faces from what was down in that game locker.

"Parrish!" The familiar voice of the Sheriff pulled Parrish out from his thoughts, as Stilinski popped his head out from the trap door. "Get down here." He ordered. Instantly, Parrish moved, heading for the wall until Stilinski raised his eyebrows at him. "Where's your jacket, son?" He asked, causing Parrish stopped in his tracks.

Lydia freaking Martin.

"Uh..at the station, sir." He lied, acting casual as he stepped into the trapdoor into the freezing air of the secret body stash.

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><p><strong>As I've already said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm not sure whether I should write another chapter before the new episode which is all OC, or wait for the new episode for hopefully some new interaction with them to see everything that happens. Let me know what you think I should do. I love to hear what you think. Love you. x<strong>


	3. The Lake House

**Big shoutout to for allowing me to use her amazing edit of Parrish and Lydia as my cover of the story, it's amazing, right?**

**I hope you guys enjoy how this chapter goes, I don't know, I kind of just wrote and I do apologise if it's crap, sorry about that. Any let me know if I made any grammatical mistakes because I definitely would have knowing that I wrote this over different periods of time and then finished at 3am. Please let me know what you guys think!**

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><p>"Parrish, I'd like to see a full report of the incident regarding the game locker and the Walcott family." Sherriff Stilinski said as he walked past Parrish's desk. His head sat in the palm of his hand, his own elbow resting on the desk as he nodded softly at Stilinski and sat up, running both his hands through his short hair and sighing.<p>

"Late night?" Peterson said as he strolled through the office, tapping Parrish's shoulder as he sat down in front of his desk just past Parrish's.

"Something like that." He replied. He had managed to stay up until four a.m looking at that case, trying to find some sort of lead to whoever..whatever.. killed the Walcott's.

"Are you writing that report?" Peterson said, peeking over onto Parrish's desk as he pulled out a scaffold.

"Yeah, but not before I go and get coffee. Want anything?" He said, getting up.

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><p>"Hey, can I get three coffees and a box of donuts?" Parrish asked the barista as he pulled out his wallet. The knowing look the barista gave him made Parrish's jaw clench. "It's not stereotypical, I just feel like donuts!" He said as the employee smiled at him and walked away.<p>

As the barista gave Parrish his order, her blue nail polish subtly tapping the inscription on his coffee,  
>Sophie 0428 472 482<p>

"Christ." He said under his breathe, before throwing the girl a friendly smile and walking out the shop. His police car sat right in front of the little Starbucks, perks of having a car with a siren on top. Sliding into the car, Parrish felt a change in the back of his seat. Slowly, he put his box of donuts on the seat, and coffee in the holders. Pulling out the material from the back from his seat, he held the material in his hands, inspecting it to see the Beacon Hills Sherriff Department logo on the front.

Oh.

Parrish's jacket was sitting in his hands; the old familiar material now seemed foreign. Instantly, Parrish pushed his arms through the sleeves, slipping the jacket on over his shoulders. "What the hell?" Parrish said to himself, as he got back out of his car and walked out onto the street, seeing nothing but flocks of citizens walking up and down the avenue, the only thing that caught his eyes was a flame of strawberry blonde hair slipping off around the corner. Sighing, Parrish stuffed his hands into his pockets, one hand meeting the soft material of his jacket, the other feeling the crunchy exterior of a note. As he pulled it out, he quickly got back into his car, making sure no one was around, he opened it up, revealing the cursive and neat writing of no one but Lydia Martin.

_Add breaking into cop cars without chipping a nail to that reputation of mine when you cops all talk about me. _

_Lydia_

A small smile crept onto Parrish's lips as he looked at the note, with the permanent smirk, he tucked the note back into his pocket and started his car, driving back to the station.

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><p>It was late when the call came in. Parrish was still at his desk, burying himself in the paperwork. At times like these he forgot why being a cop was so great, and then a call would come in, and he would remember all over again.<p>

As he headed to the hospital, Parrish kept wondering who made the call. Did Lydia find her way there? Did she find this body like she did every other? What was it this time? Another massacre?

But when Parrish got down to the scene, he didn't really know what to think.

Sean Walcott's body laid on the roof of the hospital, his body face down, an arm cast over the edge of concrete. Parrish stood there. He barely knew why he was even called in for the job. Stilinski was here, three other policemen were here taking care of it. I mean, he was the Deputy, but still. Everything seemed pretty covered.

"Hey," Sherriff Stilinski says as he walks over to Parrish, leaning close with a hushed voice. "Let's get everyone off the roof. And see if you can stall the rest for five minutes. I've got an expert of my own coming in to take a look." He said, looking around as the helicopter flew over the hospital, making loops.

"You've got an expert of teenage cannibals?" Parrish asked, looking at the dead body, his mind running over ten hundred thoughts of what the hell this could be.

"Five minutes, Parrish." Stilinski almost begged, willing him to clear the scene with all the officers. Parrish would do anything with the word of his Sherriff. He really looked up to Stilinski. He was one hell of a guy and really took Parrish under his wing when he first came to Beacon Hills. So, within the second, Parrish nodded and called out to the other officers, gesturing them out of the crime scene and leading them away, nodding to Stilinski as he left.

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><p>"Was it bad?" Peterson asked as he leaned over to Parrish's desk the following day. Parrish could barely keep his eyes open. He had been joined to Stilinski's hip for the past day, his only case now figuring out what the hell happened to Sean Walcott. Although Stilinski seemed kind of..tense about it all. Parrish made it a thing to never question him, but it didn't stop him from always looking twice at him to make sure he wasn't going to pass out or something from the way his face lost colour whenever they talked about something that wasn't exactly natural.<p>

"Uh, it was.." Parrish tried to find the words, as his eyes drooled and he tried to wake himself up by pouring another cup of coffee. "No, it was fine. Just another corpse." He said, surprising himself at how sadistic he sounded about the whole thing. That wasn't normal. Maybe it was more of the fact that this wasn't just a normal dead teenage boy. This was a teenage boy who literally ate a nurse alive. Maybe that's why he didn't feel so grim about the whole thing, but not any less freaked out.

"Big plans for tonight? Want to go to the bar across the street?" Peterson asked, leaning back in his seat and putting his hands behind his head, stretching out as he waited for this horribly long shit to end.

Before Parrish could answer, Bakes walked into the room and looked right at Parrish. "Disturbance call. Lake House down outside the East of Beacon Hills. Wild party apparently, underage drinking, probably drugs. You and Peterson are making the run." Bakes said. Parrish's head fell back and he ran his hands down his face.

"Guess I'll be taking this to-go." He said as they both got out of the chairs and headed for the exit.

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><p>Before they saw the Lake House, the two officers could hear the music. They could nearly feel the Police Car vibrate at this point. "Do you know whose house this is?" Parrish asked Peterson as he turned the corner and the large house came in sight. "Whoever it is must be rich as hell." Parrish added as he parked the car and Peterson talked on the radio.<p>

"You won't freakin' guess." Peterson said as they approached the house, his tone aggravated and riled. "Bloody Martin family." He growled.

Automatically, Parrish's head shot to the side, his eyebrows raised and his voice uncommonly high. "Lydia owns this place?"

"What? No." Peterson said, his brows furrowing in response. "Her parents do. And you call her by her first name now?" He asked sourly and Parrish rolled his eyes, as he walked up the steps of the house and knocked on the door.

As it swung open, by a random freshman with sandy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, both policemen stood tall and obviously unimpressed. "Who are you?" Peterson asked. The blue eyed boy swallowed, obviously intimidated which was always something that made Peterson feel powerful.

"It's..uh..Mike..Michael." He said softly, before Parrish took a step inside the threshold and moved through the crowd of teenagers dancing around. He looked behind him and noticed Peterson taking the boy to the other side of the house and trying to round up the teenagers. Parrish had another idea.

_"Have you seen Lydia Martin?"_

He asked the question about ten times before he gave up, moving through the teenagers one by one and no one knowing where the red head was. As he found the stairs and started to ascend them, he was met with another freshman, dark skinned with short dark hair and a friendly face. "Have you seen Lydia Martin?" Parrish asked automatically.

The boy seemed reluctant to answer the question, like he didn't want to give her away, or that he had something to hide. "I'll deal with you later." Parrish nodded and moved past the boy, going up the stairs two at a time, trying to find her.

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><p>Maybe he underestimated just how big this house might be, as he moved through passage after passage, opening door after door, he was finally met with the white door at the end of the hall. As he did every other, he knocked gently on it, and received no answer. Damn it. He opened the door carefully, ready to inspect the room out. He was met with nothing but white walls and the odd pieces of orange furniture.<p>

As his eyes examined the room, he suddenly saw the figure standing perfectly still like a statue by a record player that wasn't making any sound.

"Lydia." Parrish said, the word breathing out of his mouth as he rushed over to her. She turned her head to meet his face. Her eyes stained with mascara and her face yet beautiful seemed fuelled with depression. "Lydia, what happened?" Parrish asked, again receiving another blank response. Cautiously, he put his hand on her shoulder, trying to break her out of whatever vision or daydream she was going through. "Lydia, can you hear me?" He asked again.

Within the minute, he heard the door open. Parrish turned, his body directly in front of Lydia and his hand moving to his side within the second. His guard dropped when he noticed it was that girl that Lydia was with the first time he ever saw the strawberry blonde. The Japanese girl with short black hair and a warm expression.

"Lydia." She said, as Parrish stepped aside, clearly seeing him but ignoring him as she focused on her friend. "Are you okay?" She asked, clearly as confused as Parrish was at the point.

"I keep trying to talk to her but she doesn't respond." Parrish sighed, scratching his forehead in irritation. Surprisingly, Kira didn't seemed confused that he was here, or shocked, or confused or anything really. She didn't seem to care at all, which was definitely strange. Maybe she just cared too much on getting through to Lydia than dealing with the police at this point. Definite possibility.

"Lydia, what do you hear?" Kira asked. At that question, Parrish stepped forward and moved to the other side of Lydia so he could face both of them.

"What do you mean? It's silent in here. What could she hear?" Parrish asked, looking around them and then staring at Lydia as she stared blankly at the wall.

"The key." The silence was broken as Lydia's soft, broken voice tore through the air and made the two other people in the room freeze and wait for her to continue. Key? What key?

"The key?" Parrish asked, looking at Kira.

"The key to break the code." Lydia said.

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><p>"What happened to her? What's she doing?" Parrish couldn't exactly keep himself quiet as question after question poured out of him. Usually, he could keep his thought to himself, usually he didn't say much at all, but now, now he couldn't stay still.<p>

"Well, you know how Lydia can always find dead bodies before you guys?" Kira asked as she bent beside Lydia in front of a laptop as the red head typed quickly through it.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, that kind of just happened again, but not that exactly. Just other things."

Parrish sat on the other side of Lydia, resting his knees against the floor and watching the computer screen flash through codes and codes. "Told you that you were psychic." Parrish whispered to her, watching as the smallest ounce of a smile perked onto her lips as she typed rampantly.

Suddenly, a voice came over on his radio. "Parrish, we've got a bit of a situation over here." Peterson's familiar voice came over the speaker and Parrish stood up, walking to the other side of the room and grabbing his radio.

"Now is not a really great time, Peterson. I've got a situation up here too."

"Really? Does your situation involve a decapitated head? Because that's what I'm dealing with right now in front of the lake house."

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><p><strong>Yeah, so that's chapter 2! I hope you guys are liking how I'm working with these two and adding into canon conversations and blah blah blah. I'll try to update this soon next time, deep apologies if I get behind, I'm working hard to trying to put in interactions between these two but not take anything away from their characters like Lydia is obviously going through a lot right now in this season, and I don't want to make her ooc by her just caring about romance and stuff when she's grieving and dealing with Banshee powers. <strong>

**How do you guys feel about Parrish finding out about the supernatural? Maybe it will happen? (I feel like he already knows something in the show but what do I know I just like to write stuff)**

**Don't forget to review, favourite, follow and all that good stuff! x**


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